Chapter 1
Brooke stood at the window looking out at the dark stormy night, wondering for the hundredth time in the last few hours what she was doing here in this cold dark house all alone. Up until this afternoon, it had seemed like a good idea, but nothing had prepared her for what it would be like to be all alone in an old creaky house, with no electricity, during one of the worst storms of the years. California had been experiencing one of the worst droughts in decades, but this storm was the first of many that were predicted for the winter.
It wasn’t the storm that bothered her so much, it was the knowledge that she was miles from her nearest neighbor with no way other than the emergency radio to communicate with them. As familiar as she thought she was with living in the country, she hadn’t realized what Coldwater Canyon would really be like. Sitting on 350 thousand acres of land in the southern Sierra Nevada, there were only a handful of people who actually lived here.
She’d traveled from one coast of the country to the other on this adventure thanks to her friend Winter, who had cornered her one day at lunch and voiced her concern that Brooke was pulling away from life. They’d been friends since grade school when Winter had defended Brooke from a bully who was making fun of her. Since then, they’d grown as close as sisters, and without Winter, Brooke would have never gotten though the last few years.
But that day, she hadn’t been very happy with her friend when she’d pushed a stack of papers across the table toward Brooke and said, “I’m worried about you, Brooke. You haven’t been anywhere except work and lunch with me for months now. I know how difficult losing both your parents and your grandparents was on you, but there are other people who care about you and you’re shutting them out.”
Brooke just looked at her in shock. Winter had always been there to support her, and while she had to admit that she had been spending a lot of time alone, it wasn’t like she’d become a shut in. Immediately on the defensive, Brooke said, “It’s not like I sit in the loft all day, I go to work. I’m out to lunch with you today.”
“But that’s not enough and you know it. You go home after work and sit in that loft all alone. When is the last time you saw a movie or a play, went shopping, or out on a date?” Winter asked, her eyes locked on her friends.
Brooke had to look away first. “I know, Winter, but I just don’t seem to have the enthusiasm for life that I used to, and the last thing I want is to go on a date. No way am I risking any kind heartache right now,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
Winter reached across the table and put her hand over Brooke’s where it rested on the table. “Look, I’m not telling you how to live your life, and I know that everyone grieves in their own way, but I think it’s time you made a change. I know you love the loft, but, Brooke, it’s just keeping all your grief fresh.”
“You think I should sell the loft? I could never do that. Where would I live? The farm is leased out, I can’t go there,” Brooke said, aghast at the thought of selling the loft and moving.
“No, I think you should rent it out and get away from the city for a while. Go out and have an adventure, there’s nothing holding you here but grief and pain,” Winter said, pushing the pile of papers at Brooke again.
Brooke picked them up just to satisfy her friend, then set them down again to argue that she was just fine, but Winter’s cell phone rang. With an apologetic smile, Winter said, “I’m sorry, I have to take this. Look at those while I’m gone, you might like what you see.”
Brooke almost felt cross enough with her friend to ignore the papers just to rile her, but Winter never did anything on a whim. If she wanted Brooke to read these, there was a good reason, so she picked up the pages and began to read. By the time Winter returned to the table, Brooke had become curious about Coldwater Canyon but hadn’t been able to figure out why it was important to her.
As an investigative journalist, Winter often shared her work with Brooke before she published it, but this felt much more personal. “Well, what do you think?” Winter said when she sat back down.
Brooke looked down at the papers in her hand, then back up at her friend. “It looks like quite the undertaking they’ve planned. It’s going to take a lot of money to make this happen.”
“That’s true, but these people have that kind of money and more. I’ve never met anybody like them, Marissa Terrell is an amazing woman. She’s the mastermind behind the scheme, but her husband Scott is the one who got the state to give the water back. They teamed up with Cooper Montgomery, who owns a huge piece of land up there too. Between them all, there are billions of dollars available for the project. It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen,” Winter said, shaking her head.
“Did I see that there’s an Indian burial ground on the property?” Brooke asked, her natural curiosity peaked.
“Yep, and there are even rumors of buried treasure, but Marissa seemed to think that was all just legend. Still, even without the buried treasure, it was incredible to see what they’re doing with the land. Brooke, there’s even a ghost town, it looks just like it did in the 1930s when everyone left.” Winter was practically gushing with excitement.
“It’s all really interesting, but I don’t see what this has to do with me,” Brooke said, flipping through the pages again.
“Did you read the whole thing?” Winter asked, pulling the pages out of her hand and rifling through them. Then she slapped a single sheet in front of Brooke.
It was basically a full page help wanted ad. As Brooke read, she began to think that her friend had lost her mind. “You want me to move across the country and run a bed and breakfast?”
“Why not? You have all the experience they’re looking for. You basically grew up on your grandparents’ farm, you’ve been working hospitality for years. It might be just the thing to get you out of the funk you’ve been in,” Winter said carefully.
“But California, that’s completely on the other side of the country.” Brook said, using the first excuse that came to her mind, then added, “I don’t know if I want to rent out the loft either, that was my childhood home. I can’t imagine letting strangers move in there.”
“Well, what if strangers didn’t have to move in? Brian and I have been looking for a place to live after we get married, we could rent it from you. Then not only would you know your tenants, when you come to visit, you could have the extra bedroom,” Winter said, having clearly thought through all Brooke’s possible objections.
“You just want to get rid of me so you can have the loft.” Brooke tried to sound angry but didn’t do a great job of it.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Winter said, then sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, clearly willing to wait for Brooke to say something intelligent.
Brooke took a deep breath and said, “Fine. I’ll look at this some more and think about it.”
That day in the restaurant had set her on a new path, and at first it had seemed like a grand adventure, but now standing in the window as the storm raged on outside, she wasn’t so sure that it hadn’t been a huge mistake. The temptation to just pack up and go home to New York was so strong just then that she had to physically make herself move away from the window and the frightening night outside.
Thinking to distract herself, she picked up the folder Marissa had left for her in the house and crossed the room to sit in front of the fire. Paging through the folder, she again read the long list of things that she was supposed to accomplish over the winter. The most important item to her at this moment was the installation of the solar panels; electricity would have gone a long way toward making her feel more secure during this storm. Marissa had warned her that it might be a long few weeks before that happened, but at the time it hadn’t seemed like such a big deal and she’d been ready to say goodbye to New York.
“Brooke, I hope you understand that no one has lived in the house for over fifty years. The family held onto the land for a long as they could and the house isn’t in bad shape, but it’s going to be rough for a while,” Marissa had explained.
“My friend Winter showed me pictures, she’s the one who suggested that I contact you,” Brooke explained. “I also did some research before I filled out the application, I really think I can handle this.”
“You know Winter?” Marissa asked.
“We’ve been friends since grade school. She thought it might be good for me to get out of the city for a while,” Brooke said, not sure how much she should tell Marissa.
“Can I ask why? I don’t mean to pry, but you have to understand that I want someone who can guarantee me at least two years. It’s going to be a hard first year, but I’m hoping by then the farm will be up and running and we’ll have guests,” Marissa said, putting Brooke on the spot.
Brooke decided she had nothing to lose and everything to gain, so she said, “Other than Winter, I don’t really have any ties that might bring me back to New York. Both my parents and grandparents were killed a couple of years ago, so I’m basically alone.” She expected it to hurt more when she said it, but surprisingly it was only a dull throb under the excitement that was quickly building for her new job.
“Oh, Brooke, I’m so sorry. I had no idea, but there a lot of wonderful people up here who would be more than happy to become like family. We’re a pretty tight group, we have to take care of each other up here. I’d really like to have you join us,” Marissa said, her concern genuine.
“I can’t say that it hasn’t been hard, and I also have to admit that Winter might have been right. I do need to get away and make a change,” Brooke said.
“Is that a yes?” Marissa asked, not even hiding her excitement.
“It is,” Brooke said, equally excited.
“I’ll send you all the information you’ll need as well as your moving expenses. If you want one big piece of advice, get yourself a truck when you get out here. It’s rough traveling up here and we’re supposed to get a record amount of snow this year.”
Brooke almost laughed out loud to think of herself driving a truck, but then she thought about where she’d be living and instead said, “That might not be a bad idea.” She’d have to stop thinking like a New Yorker and more like a farmer, which actually did make her laugh out loud. “I think I have a bit of culture shock coming.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not that far to town and you can access the internet from the school if you need to,” Marissa said, laughing too.
It was late summer before she’d signed a contract for two years with Coldwater Canyon Park as an eco-tourism host, a title she and Marissa had come up with together over another long video chat session. Although she hadn’t met her face to face, Brooke liked Marissa and knew that they’d become friends. What surprised her most was the fact that Marissa didn’t act like someone who was filthy rich; in fact, if you didn’t know she was, you’d never guess.
When the packet with Brooke’s contract and the detailed plan for the farm arrived, it suddenly became a reality, especially when she started thinking about all the work she’d just signed up for. It had been a long time since she’d used a hammer or milked a cow, but those skills would come back quickly. One thing she knew for certain, she’d need a whole new wardrobe; her New York clothes wouldn’t last a minute in California.
By September first, she’d packed all her personal belongings from the loft and put them in storage and helped Winter and Brian move into the loft. She’d bought a new wardrobe, including heavy winter clothes and all the emergency supplies Marissa had suggested, plus a few more she’d discovered in a high end hiking store. Stuffing everything into her car and driving away had been difficult, but as she crossed the bridge out of the city, a weight had begun to lift from her shoulders.
She took her time driving across the country, stopping when she wanted, even making a few detours to see interesting sights. Two weeks later, she pulled up to a dealership in Los Angeles, thinking that New York traffic was nothing compared to the mess she’d just navigated. Thanks to a generous bonus and a well-placed word from someone in Coldwater Canyon, she drove away in a truck equipped to get her through a winter in the California mountains and anything the summer could throw at her.
When she finally left Los Angeles, she was as prepared as she could be, including an extensive collection of books on farming and animal husbandry in California. Again thanks to Marissa’s foresight, she’d have her own little library to help her bring the farm back to life; just looking at the stack of books made her want to get her hands dirty. She’d also made a trip to the hardware store and selected her own tools and equipment for the work she’d be doing on the house.
Marissa had warned her about the security gate, but she was still shocked when it appeared as she came around a corner. She’d been so busy looking at the scenery, it took her by surprise, but when she approached, they knew who she was and only a quick look at her driver’s license and she was through the gate. It briefly occurred to her that it was strange that they’d installed a security gate all the way up here, but then she remembered the Indian burial ground and shivered a little.
Following the directions Marissa had given her, she found the farm and pulled into the yard to find a large group of people waiting for her. Getting out of the truck, she crossed the yard as a woman came to meet her. “Hi, you must be Brooke. I’m Margret, I live just across the ridge,” the woman said, holding out her hand.
“Hi,” Brooke said, a little overwhelmed by the group of people looking at her expectantly.
“We just wanted to come over and get the place as ready for you as we could. We’ve cleaned top to bottom, the stove and the fireplace are clean, and there’s a good supply of wood on the porch for you,” Margret said.
“Thank you. That was really nice of you,” Brooke said, already feeling good about her decision to come here. Everyone had been so nice and she’d just arrived.
“We’ll help you get unpacked and then you can get settled in. There’s ice in the icebox and plenty of food to get you through a few days. If you’d like, I’d be happy to come over and help you unpack tomorrow. I have a feeling you’ll have a steady stream of visitors, we haven’t had anyone new for a while,” Margret practically gushed, making Brooke feel special.
“That would be wonderful,” Brooke said, taking a box out of the back of the truck, thinking that Marissa hadn’t been kidding about people taking care of one another up here.
Thinking about her new friends, who after only a few days already felt like family, she began to calm down. It was just a storm after all, but just as she was beginning to drift off to sleep in front of the fire, she heard what sounded like gun shots. First one, then several more followed by a silence, then one last shot. Jumping to her feet, she ran to the door and made sure it was securely bolted, then she looked out each window, only seeing the wind and rain lashing the trees.
Shivering, she stood at the front window for a long time watching the storm again when an especially bright flash of lightning lit up the woods and she was sure she saw a figure leaning against one of the trees, but the light was gone so fast she couldn’t be sure. Watching the spot, waiting for the next flash, she was relieved to see nothing when the forest was lit up again. Assuming it had just been a figment of her imagination, she turned back to the fire but then a loud crash made her jump.
Crossing back to the window, she pulled the curtain aside and looked out, seeing nothing but the dark night. When a log shifted in the fire, she actually cried out, then laughed at herself. She was going to have to get a lot tougher if she was going to make it up here. Squaring her shoulders, she marched back to her chair by the fire and picked up the book she’d been reading, determined to ignore the storm.
She sat and read for a few minutes finally distracted by plans for the garden she would plant in the spring. But her concentration was broken by a loud thump on the front porch. Immediately on her feet, the book hit the floor with a loud thud. Another loud thud directly in front of her door had her flying to the fireplace to grab the poker. Yielding it like a weapon, she crept up to the window and looked out.
There was no one in her yard, her truck the only vehicle in sight, but then there was another thump, this one much quieter than the first. Knowing she had no choice, she slid the bolt on the door and opened it a crack, still seeing nothing in the yard or on the porch. Just as she was about to close the door, she heard a groan out in the yard and waited for a flash of lightening, which when it came had her bolting out of the house and into the yard.
For a split second, she’d thought that someone had left their muddy clothes in her yard, but then she realized that it was a man. Crouching next to him, she rolled him onto his back only to discover a nasty wound on his shoulder. The rain was pelting his face, but he seemed not to notice as the water just rolled off his face in rivers. Soaked to the skin and already freezing, she realized that he must be equally cold.
Seeing no other choice, she grabbed him under the arms and began dragging him into the house, praying the whole time that he was a good guy and not a bad one. The man was very large, at least six foot six, and muscular, so it was no easy task dragging him up the porch stairs and into the house. Once they were out of the storm, she stopped to rest, panting with the effort of moving the man.
She had no choice but to leave him lying in the entry way while she quickly spread a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace, then stripped off her clothes and pulled him onto the blanket. Standing over him shivering, she realized that she’d have to get his wet clothes off if he was ever going to get warm. Kneeling down next to him, she took a deep breath and put her hand on his chest.
“I’m going to get these wet clothes off of you so you can get warm,” she said, gasping when her hand came in contact with the hard muscles of his chest, not from the cold of his skin but because of a strange surge of electricity that seemed to pass between them.